Clay Flowers For The Wounded
by Karakuri1925
Summary: Italy can't ask for forgiveness that will never come, so his life is cast into shadow. When everyone is released from the hospital, Italy does something no one expected he could do. Post WWII Italy. Currently being revamped.
1. Chapter One

Italy thanked the woman who escorted him to his dreary destination, then proceeded to go to the hospital where his friends were. He never realized there was a police officer walking with him to the hospital to ensure that the nation didn't try anything. Italy requested approval to visit Francis Bonnefoy, Arthur Kirkland, Matthew Williams, Alfred Jones, Ivan Braginski, Yao Wang, Kiku Honda, and, although he nearly started bawling when he said it, Ludwig Beilschmidt. He was granted the approval, although they threatened to search the bundle. Italy showed them his identification and they grudgingly allowed him and his bundle into the rooms. Italy managed to walk into the first room without breaking down and running out crying. He saw France and England, the most injured out of everyone, excepting maybe one man, lying asleep on two hospital beds. England's blanket had fallen off, and Italy could see the extent of the damage his 'friend' had done to the older country. He immediately began to feel guilty, but he felt worse when he noticed Canada sitting next to France, holding his hand. He looked at the Italian curiously. America was holding England's hand in his bandaged fingers. Fortunately, most of America's injuries couldn't be seen by the brunette's eyes. He sighed, thanking God for that, before opening the bundle and lifting out an extremely detailed clay hibiscus flower, which he had colored. Italy attached a small note to the hibiscus before proceeding to take out the other clay flowers. A tudor rose for England, a peony for France, and last, but not least, a red poppy with maple leaves coming out of the stem. Canada's was probably the hardest to make, since Italy didn't know the young country very well. He attached notes to them, too. He looked at England, memories clouding his mind.

**_Italy could hear the sound of huge bombs, screams of pain echoing in his ears. A taller man with blond hair raised the receiver away from Italy's face and lifted it to his own. Italy, glad for the receiver being taken from him, buried his face in his palms._**

"**_Must I ask for this now, or perhaps tomorrow is a better date?"_**

**_Italy could still hear the other side of the conversation, and what he heard shook him worse than the screams of pain he could still hear, even though they were long dead._**

"**_No surrender, I can't surrender, no su-" A pained voice replied, hoarse and obviously labored. It was cut off by the sound of a screaming man. Italy's eyes welled with tears and he covered his ears and hummed 'Bella Ciao' to himself._**

_England, I'm so sorry. Not that it matters now._ Italy thought, placing the clay rose on the table closest to the Briton. He looked over at America, who's eyes had cracked open slightly. England's face had gone grey and America's brow was furrowed, even in his sleep.

"**_This shouldn't have happened! Why are you doing this? It's not your war to partake in!" Italy was almost begging the blond to stop fighting._**

**_Instead, the blond looked at him. His once vibrant, clear blue eyes were dull and hazy behind his glasses. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand, allowing a thin trickle of crimson to drip down his arm, then to drip to the floor at his elbow. He stared at Italy, who was unable to say anything._**

"**_This is my fight as much as it is yours. I've lost just as much as you have, and I'm not letting myself leave the battlefield simply because it's 'not my fight'."_**

_America, if only you knew. 'If only' isn't going to fix this. It's your fault, Feli, you didn't try to stop him. You let a murderer run free._ Italy pulled his hand up to smack himself upside the head before he felt a hand on his arm. Canada had woken up completely now, and had stopped the Italian from hitting himself. Italy looked into Canada's purple-blue eyes, unable to look away.

**_A small boat was poised next to a battleship, by no means safe. There could not have been a moment's calm, a moment's prayer, as the hull of the ship was destroyed by a catastrophic explosion. Lights could be seen, crimson red. Sirens could be heard, loud and clear, slicing through the air. Yells erupted as what was hundreds of men worked to stay alive. The small boat revved it's engine and sped off into the distance, a red and white flag fluttering in the breeze. The battleship sunk behind it, forgotten momentarily._**

"Ve~, don't be silly." Italy muttered to himself.

"Are you all right?" Canada whispered, as not to wake the others up.

"What? Ve~, I'm perfectly fine!" Italy smiled brightly, his innermost sadness concealed.

"Is it all right if I go back to sleep?"

"Of course! I'm sorry to have woken you up, I'll be quieter. But, do me a favor and don't tell anyone I left these." Italy's smile disappeared as soon as the Canadian's eyes were shut.

He looked at the thin and pale man that was France, one of his best friends. He could see the yellowing bandages which showed his burns, long gashes from the trenches covering his chest, which had yet to heal. He fought off tears, remembering how his friend had been forced to surrender after his country was forced to host some of the bloodiest battles, eventually being torn apart.

**_Italy looked at the singular man lying on the floor of the 'room'. His wrists were raw and bleeding where the offending metal hung. He was pale, his blond hair lying half-hazardly around his head. He was sprawled out across the filthy surface. A singular word was painted on the wall and in Italy's mind in the only thing France had at his disposal there and then. Italy peered at the word, making it out through the darkness. Even in the blackness, Italy could tell the one word that was written in the lifeblood of the man who had been like his father after Papa Rome left._**

"**_VICHY." He read._**

_This is my fault… I should've been able to stop that murderer, but when I wanted to, it was far too late to help anyone._ Italy picked up the peony up for a moment, making sure that he had put red, white, and green on it so that France would know who it was from.

* * *

><p>He left, closing the door silently behind him before heading out into the hallway with his now smaller bundle, making sure nothing had broken off or cracked. He smiled sadly when nothing had, knowing that he couldn't continue to prolong the visit that he was dreading. Deciding to skip that visit for now, Italy went into the next room. He saw Russia lying on his bed, China right next to him. Italy had always been afraid of the Russian, but China had always been nice to him. He opened the bundle again, this time removing two clay flowers. One was a sunflower, for Russia. It was painted yellow, a small bumblebee on the tip of one petal painted there. The second was a plum blossom, for China. Italy had taken great care when painting this the lightest pink he could mix, putting small red dots where they were on the painting he had to purchase so he knew what the flower should look like. Except for one petal, which was painted yellow to show China that he had a piece of Russia. Italy had originally thought he could never forgive the Russian after what he had done to…<p>

"**_Allow me to light this more, da?" Russia asked, swirling the fluid around in its jar._**

"**_Stop! Stop! You know he can't fight back, why are you doing this?" A silver-haired man had come to defend someone._**

"**_He had his only chance!" The second nation was betrayed by his southern accent._**

"**_He can't even stand!" Prussia flicked his fingers to his holster, angry and hoping to help _**_him**… "If-" He jerked backwards, looking shocked that he had a blossoming crimson stain appearing across his chest.**_

**_Prussia toppled backwards, one hand over the wound, the other still grasping the gun. It flew out of his suddenly limp fingers, landing several inches away from the body. His eyes were wide, unseeing. The second figure stowed his gun away._**

"**_Let's get back to business, Berlin won't burn itself for us, now will it?"_**

Italy sighed, flinching when it came out as a hoarse wheeze. He tied the notes onto their respective flowers before leaving. He opened the next door, flinching and almost sobbing when he saw the lone figure.

* * *

><p>Japan's lips were cracked and dry as they sucked in air, the thick bandages coating his chest colored light pink as the immense amount of blood was being absorbed. <em>Hang on, Japan, for me <em>Italy thought, desperate. He pulled out two flowers. One was a pink rose, the other a cherry blossom. He placed the rolled up slip of paper into the rose's center before sitting on the floor next to his friend.

**_Italy was nearly sobbing, wailing into a receiver._**

"**_Japan! Japan, what do I do? He's-He's bleeding and it's-it's all my fault! I should've been able to do_**_ something!**"**_

**_Italy heard a tired sigh from Japan's end of the line. "Itaria, I'm sorry, I can't-"_**

**_There was a crackling sound, and Italy almost collapsed to the ground, sobbing. "Japan, are you there? Is everything okay?"_**

"**_Itaria, you have to stay on the line! Something is wrong, I don't know whether or not Russia has broken through the lines or-GYAH!"_**

**_A nearly-bloodcurdling scream was heard from Japan's end. Italy shuddered, freaking out on the inside. The line was overwhelmed by static before going completely dead._**

"**_Kiku! Kiku, can you hear me?"_**

**_No one could, no one did hear Italy._**

* * *

><p>Italy felt a tear make its way down his face. He stood up a bit too quickly, making the room spin a little. He picked up the last of his bundle, running to find the last didn't expect the wave of emotions he was feeling to consume him all at once when he saw Germany. His 'friend' was covered in yellowing bandages, his eyes flitting around under his eyelids, searching for an unseen ally. Italy remembered his last few minutes with the German all too well.<p>

**_Green, bloody, stained fabric. That's all Italy could register in his mind. Not the man in front of him as his friend, that would never index._**

**_The ice-blue eyed blond staring at him was nothing but a murderer._**

"**_Italy, listen to me. I won't hurt you, trust-"_**

"**_Trust you? You won't hurt me? You mean like you didn't hurt everyone else! You're the reason that everyone is gone or going to die!" Italy was referring to the nations he had found, unconscious and bleeding._**

"**_Italy, please, just-"_**

"**_Just what, Germany? Just sit back and take it while you beat the other countries into submission? You're a murderer! I trusted you, and look where that got me! Stay away from me, Germany. Just, stay away." Italy cut him off, his voice sharp._**

"**_Feliciano, please-"_**

**_Italy's hand fell to the holster at his side. He didn't want to use the standard-issue military pistol that Benito Mussolini had given him. Italy didn't even notice when the gun was pointed at his breaking 'friend', the tears falling through his eyelashes, blurring his vision, and making him back into a wall. He backed toward the door slowly, making sure he made it through the doorway before turning and bolting._**_ This was nothing but lies. Lies, lies, lies. That's all.** Italy thought, flinging his head down towards a bush and throwing up the contents of his stomach. There was not much, but he wished that he could have just shot Germany with the special bullets given to him by France and moved on with his life.**_

"Why did you do it, Doitsu? I trusted you. I understood you could tell me the truth. But I guess I would feel worse if your demise was weighing on my shoulders." Italy muttered, placing the clay forget-me-not on the bedside table, the note rolled up and tied to it. He returned to Japan's room, remembering the red tulip necklace Italy had bought him. He carefully clicked it around Japan's neck, smiling when it sparkled.


	2. Chapter Two

America awoke to the sound of Canada waking France and England up. He looked at his lap, where a small blue Hibiscus was. America picked it up, noticing it was crafted expertly, handmade. It was clear that whoever painted it had enough time to, since the strokes made the flower almost look real. He opened the small parcel attached to it, unrolling it carefully. England looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting America to read it out loud. America blinked the tears from his eyes and read the note in a quavering voice.

"_You fought a war that was not yours to fight,_

_You have more than just military might._

_Pain is clearly etched in your country._

_I hope you can forgive me."_

England held a Tudor rose in his hand, also made of clay. He was looking at the peach-colored flower curiously. France was holding the peony, inspecting it for error. He covered his gasp when he realized who had left it for him. Canada was cradling the red poppy in his arms, crying slightly at the poem that was left for him. He wiped his eyes before returning his glasses to his face, sniffling slightly. Canada smiled to himself.

"Canada, what does yours say?"

"_Bandages are red,_

_Lips are blue,_

_This war was incredibly foolish._

_And I know that I was too._"

It was England's turn. He was smiling at his parcel, as if knowing that he had a friend in one of the ex-Axis Powers. _Germany wouldn't be friends with me, not after what happened. Japan can't have left these, he's been in a somewhat comatose state ever since the incident. Italy was working with Germany willingly, so he can't have left these for us, could he?_ England was pondering this when America suddenly brought his attention back to the conversation by trying to take his tudor rose away. He clenched it tighter, thinking that the stem would sink in, surprised when it didn't. He then realized that none of the flowers were real, they were all hand-made and hand-painted from clay.

"_This is an apology_

_For the things that I did._

_This is to hoping _

_For the forgiveness_

_I don't deserve."_

France shook his head, refusing to say anything. Canada snatched the note, read it, and smiled sadly.

"_This is for all of the blood you lost,_

_I hope that someday I can repay your cost,_

_I hope that someday _

_I can say words never said._

_Peony is for healing."_

France was almost catatonic, knowing that it was Italy who left him the note. He longed to thank the younger country, how he sorely longed to thank Italy. France knew that, no matter what Italy had done, he could not bring himself to hate the weaker country. He had been stomped on by Germany, scared into helping him. Or at least, that's what Germany had said. France knew otherwise. Italy had been bossed around by Benito Mussolini. Canada had known all along, as it had turned out, and had also promised not to tell anyone. America sat there with England, puzzled over the fact that he didn't know who left them the flowers.

Russia had awoken to the sound of China crying. He was holding a small plum blossom made of clay close to his chest, a crumpled up poem in his hand. Russia hugged him carefully, trying to calm him down. He noticed that on the bedside table, there was a sunflower and a rolled up piece of parchment attached to it. He carefully lifted it, detached the parchment, and read the poem aloud to China.

"_You hurt friends of mine,_

_Now I don't know what to think._

_I see what you've done,_

_I see that you've won._

_So I'm asking forgiveness_

_Although I don't deserve it."_

China looked up at Russia, his eyes red and puffy. Russia wiped a stray tear away from his eye. _да, I did hurt your friends. да, I have won. __Нет__, I can't forgive you. If I knew who you were, I might be able to. But since I don't…_ China had opened his parcel finally, and was slowly reading the poem he had. He came across a word he couldn't read, and Russia told him what it was. He asked China to read it aloud.

"Oh, all right, aru. Don't pester me, aru.

'_I hope your recovery is smooth,_

_I hope you feel no pain,_

_I hope your sadness is no more._

_I know that I helped a murderer._

_I ask forgiveness for my actions._

_I ask forgiveness for words never said.'"_

Russia suddenly had an epiphany. _'I know that I helped a murderer'… Italy! Wasn't Italy the one who pointed his gun at Germany when he realized that he was a monster? Wasn't Italy the one who was stomped on by Germany until he became allies with him? Мне так жаль, Италия._

Japan awoke to the sight of Italy sleeping restlessly on the floor. He looked at the cherry blossom and the red tulip sitting on his bedside table. Regretfully, he awoke the sleeping Italian, and immediately felt guilty. He noticed Italy's bloodshot eyes, the bags under them. He sighed and pointed at the clay masterpieces. He was deeply confused by why they were even there.

"You made these?"

"_Ve~_, of course! Do you want me to read the poems for you?"

"If you could?"

Italy detached the first poem from the cherry blossom, placing the flower in Japan's hand. He smiled at the Italian, knowing that Feliciano cared very much for him.

"_I am guilty of making mistakes_

_That cost so many their lives._

_I am guilty of helping a monster._

_Cherry blossoms are your favorite,_

_So I thought I'd make one just for you._

_I hope you can hurry and heal,_

_So we can see these blooms for real."_

"Itaria… Come here." Japan snapped.

Italy tentatively crept closer to Japan, who hugged him tightly. Italy was somewhat surprised by the act of love, since he had been expecting Japan to yell at him, call him a monster, something along those lines. Japan winced when Italy gently pried himself away so that he could read the second poem. He replaced the cherry blossom with the red tulip, which Japan pulled the poem out for himself, obviously not going to let Italy read it. He smiled when his eyes met the end of the poem.

"_Roses are the color red,_

_Violets are purple, not blue._

_Either flower is beautiful,_

_And you are too._

_Sunflowers are yellow,_

_Peonies are pink,_

_I love you more than you think."_

Italy blushed when Japan read the last line, smiling anyway. Japan hugged Italy, reluctant to let him go.

Germany awoke to the sight of a blue forget-me-not on his chest. He picked it up, detached the note, and read it to himself. He cried silently at the last line of the poem, forgetting about how much it hurt him physically. _Italy… How badly could I have possibly hurt you to make you feel like this? Please, please, _please_ forgive me, please forgive yourself. No one blames you for anything, nothing at all._

"_There is no future, there is a past._

_I'm living this moment as my last._

_There's only this, _

_Forget regret or life is yours to miss._

_I thought I could trust you._

_Instead, life ran crimson._

_The others are hurt, yet healing._

_I know you are hurt._

_I know you are healing._

_Now all I want is for my heart_

_To stop beating."_

Germany took his pain medication and was eased back into a peaceful oblivion called sleep.

_**Мне так жаль, Италия=I am sorry, Italy.**_


	3. Chapter Three

**I still do not own Hetalia! Axis Powers, nor will I ever own it. Must you rub it in?**

**Anyway, enjoy the story as much as you can, and I am hoping you do not have to experience what the characters do.**

**Deutschland,****um ihn kümmern****, oder ich werde ****sicherstellen, dass Sie****sich****jede einzelne****Emotion****er diese****ganze Zeit****gefühlt hat****Germany****, ****take care of him****, ****or****I will make sure****that you are****every single****emotion****he****has felt****all this time****.**

**Many thanks to NONAMESWEREAVAILABLE, Cuore l'anima della, ****and NekoNerd6 for reviewing!**

**NONAMESWEREAVAILABLE: Italy managed to escape the war with minor injuries, but honestly, I do not think he would care when it came to him thinking it was his fault his friends were injured, and he wanted forgiveness for his part in the war.**

Everyone noticed the slow, painful change in Italy. It was almost as if Italy was wasting away. America noticed how pale he was, England noticed how Italy's eyes had sunk in, France noticed how his once vibrant hazel eyes had grown dull, and rather distant. Japan noticed the largest and most disturbing change in the Italian, however. Instead of being vibrant, alive, talkative, the brown-haired male was quiet, secluded, and silent. This worried more than just Japan. Italy's ahoge had drooped noticeably, causing Germany to become worried. For instance, when Germany commented on how sad and depressed Italy had become the Italian had just nodded. To Italy, getting up in the morning was painful. He stopped eating, and only ate when Japan forced him to. He stopped smiling, except when he had to plaster a fake smile on his face for Japan. His eyes grew steadily more bloodshot until the whites riddled with small, red capillaries. The hospital gained a new patient, who was roomed with Japan. The raven-haired male hardly recognised his Italian when he zoomed in on a gurney, propelled forward by a solitary doctor. He had multiple lacerations covering his wrists, all of which were bleeding profusely. Japan looked at the self-injured Italian, worry creeping over his features. The doctor stuck Italy with an IV drip, then turned on his heel and left. Japan soon found himself crying over Italy, who was mutilating himself.

It had been two days since Italy arrived at the hospital on the gurney. Apparently, Canada had gone off to talk to him about his behaviour when he saw Italy lying in a pool of his own blood, dying. He called nine-one-one as fast as he could. Japan had tried to have a conversation with the Italian, but he refused to meet Japan's eyes. The hospital was forcing Italy to eat, even though he never actually ate the food. He picked at it until the nurse got so tired of him playing with it she took it away. Italy did not drink anything; he did not take his pain medication or his anti-depressants. America had come to visit once, but Italy had still been unconscious. America had sat there and held Italy's hand for what felt like ages. Canada visited next, and this time Italy was conscious. Canada was determined to get Italy to talk, even if just little, one-word sentences.

"Italy, why did you try to kill yourself?"

Italy just smiled and returned to the comfort of unconsciousness. Russia and China came next, while Italy was barely conscious. They told him how he earned his forgiveness, that nothing was ever his fault, that he was not an enemy. Italy, being the opposite of cognitive, did not respond to these statements. Russia gazed down with sadness at the man that had always been so vibrant, so happy, so...Italy. When England and France realized they could leave, they spent every second of their free time with the Italian. England often brought flowers, mostly Tudor Roses, since Italy once told him that being alive was like picking a rose, and life has its thorns. France brought peonies, along with hibiscus flowers. Italy smiled when France put them in between his fingers. They told him stories about what was happening all around him.

"Italy, you asked me for forgiveness you did not think you deserved. Well, I know you deserve it, Feliciano Vargas." England said, his voice stern, but kind.

"Feli, do you remember that time we went to America and saw the statue of liberty? Remember how beautiful she was?" France reminisced.

Italy did nothing but smile and nod. Germany was the next to gain freedom, since his burns were not too bad anymore. He still had to take pain medication, sure, but at least he could function. He tried to visit Italy, but Japan stopped him at the door. Germany sat with Japan, listened to his stories about Italy, what was happening to him. The blonde-haired male listened to everything, hung off every word. He finally got up and dragged himself out of the room.

After a few months, Japan's wounds had healed and he gained the freedoms of the outside of the hospital. However, instead of returning to Japan as he had originally planned, Kiku spent all of his time with Italy. Italy, the man who was slipping away from him. Italy, who had never asked for anything but forgiveness. Japan sat with Italy, cried for him, kept him from starving himself. He saw the true extent of the damage Italy had done to his body. His skin was pasty and deathly pale. His cheekbones became extremely prominent, his eyes sunken in and blood shot. His lips were dry, parched, and cracking. Japan listened to Italy's weak breathing, suddenly understanding why the younger nation did not talk to the others. It was not because he did not want to; it was because he could not. Japan looked into Italy's dead, blood-shot eyes, which filled with regret. Japan carefully pulled the frail man into an embrace, receiving a weak one in return. Japan could feel how thin the younger nation had become. He could feel each one of Italy's ribs. _No wonder he is so weak, he has not eaten properly in ages _Japan thought to himself. Austria, surprisingly enough, came to visit Italy whenever Japan was not there, since he wanted them to have some time together. The tips of Italy's lips curled upwards a little bit when Austria brought a keyboard one day. He spent his time with Italy playing all sorts of classical music, even though it did not sound quite as nice as when he played the music on the piano. Austria had just finished _Fur Elise_ when Germany walked in, almost casually. The Austrian whipped the keyboard into his bag roughly and stood up.

"Until next time, Italien. Deutschland, um ihn kümmern, oder ich werde sicherstellen, dass Sie sich jede einzelne Emotion er diese ganze Zeit gefühlt hat."

Germany looked almost scared of the Austrian when he walked out of the hospital room, glaring angrily at the blue-eyed nation. Italy's eyes had glazed over from listening to Austria play, so it was obvious he was not paying attention to the hostile atmosphere surrounding Germany and Austria. Italy snapped back to reality when Germany started to speak.

"Italy, is what everyone saying true? That you tried to commit suicide?"

Italy said nothing, but nodded his head. Coughing, he reached for the glass of water next to the table. Germany handed it to him and steadied Italy's hand while he drank it. It was then Germany realized the younger nation had become plagued with violent tremors. Some colour returned to Italy's face while he waited for Ludwig to ask the next question.

"W-Why would you do that? It is my fault, ja."

"I felt guilty."

"For what?"

"For what happened."

Italy's eyes closed shortly and Germany could see the pain he truly felt. What Italy did had not been out of regret, as Germany originally thought, but out of guilt. _How could you possibly feel guilty, Italien?_ Germany held Italy's hand until the younger nation had fallen soundly asleep, then removed it and left. The world meeting was supposed to occur soon, and he had to prepare a speech. Italy would recover soon, so Germany could finally go, right?


	4. Chapter Four

**Don't own Hetalia! Axis Powers, although I sometimes wonder what would happen if I did.**** The story is almost done! I know, scary, right? I've been wondering if I should do a sequel, which is what happens after this whole ordeal. But I digress.**

Italy was soon released from the hospital, since the doctors said they could do nothing more for him. Japan stayed at his home with him, making sure he ate, drank, and slept normally. His face had filled out a little bit, his eyes weren't bloodshot anymore, but he was still weak. For this reason, Italy continually tried to get Japan to go to the World Meetings without him, since Italy never felt up to the concerned looks he knew he would recieve. Regardless of Italy's excuses, Japan dragged Italy to all of the meetings. The countries stared at him, not out of hate, but out of concern. Some of them did not even recognize Italy, his appearance was still so different. During the oh-so-sacred lunch break, Italy managed to slip outside, where he ran into none other than England.

"Everyone is really worried about you, so don't you bloody try that again. On the bright side, you look better. How are you feeling?"

"I feel better. It's times like these that things happen. Guilt is a present never given back."

"Guilt is a responsibility never able to be shrug off, right? You seem to quote Japan often nowadays. Any reason for that?"

"I have been living with him, so I guess it's just a force of habit." Italy laughed, although it was empty and humourless.

France joined them, making the conversation a little bit awkward.

"L'Italie, how are you? You look a little bit better, mon cher."

"I feel better, so I guess that is a good thing. Although, do you know why Germany will not talk to me? He hasn't so much as even looked at me since he visited me in the hospital."

"He's afraid of something, that is what I was told, l'Italie."

"Grazie, Francia." Italy replied, running off to find Germany.

Germany, as it turned out, had left the meeting early, saying that he had a stomachache. Italy collapsed onto a bench, feeling exhausted. _What happened to me? Why am I so tired after a short run?_ Japan sat next to him on the bench, handing him a bottle of water and his Italian flag pillbox.

"I notice when you do not take them, Itaria."

Italy took the pillbox and the water, selected the correct pills, and placed the foul-tasting things into his mouth. He took a long drink of water, attempting to swallow both the pills and the putrid taste down his throat. Japan laughed a little at the Italian's antics, remembering when he had to take similar pills. Italy, on the other hand, felt utterly defeated when the foul taste was still in his mouth. He glared at the pillbox, much to Japan's amusement. Japan stowed the box in his jacket pocket, throwing the now empty water bottle into the nearest recycle bin. The lunch break ended, and everyone trudged back into the meeting room, ready to be bored out of their minds. England replaced Germany in leading the meeting, which ended up being quite successful. At about an hour in to the second half, France decided he wanted to give his speech.

"And then-"

"Angleterre, I still need to give my speech, mon petit cher."

"No one cares about your speech, Frog. And now, Italy's giving his speech."

"Well, the pasta that I made for Japan and I for breakfast this morning tasted delicious with breakfast pizza, so my country is doing very well." Italy began, "And furthermore, ~Paaasssttttaaaa!"

Italy sat down, looking very happy. Japan stood up, gave his short speech, and sat back down. France stood up and quickly gave his speech before England could cut him off. The englishman looked incredibly angry at the frog, but let it go when America stood up to give his speech. Everyone sat through a story full of aliens and far-fetched encounters. The speech lasted about an hour, and Kiku noticed Italy deflating again. _Ve~ this metabolism is going to be the death of me someday, it's affecting the length of time my meds work_ Italy thought, forcing down more pills in front of everyone else. China looked at him, worried, but when he flashed his signature grin everything went back to normal. America was cut off from his never-ending speech by Canada, who had yet to give his speech. Canada's speech lasted about three minutes, which was a god-given blessing to everyone because that meant they could all go home.

On the bus ride back to the hotel, the countries talked about the storm that was due to sweep through Philadelphia, which was where the meetings were currently held. Italy stared out the window, watching the small water droplets trickle down before splashing to the ground. He suddenly began to feel very sad, despite the fact that his anti-depressant hadn't worn off yet. Japan held his hand, knowing that the rain made the Italian sad, not the chemical imbalance in his brain. When France asked Italy if he and Japan wanted to join him for dinner, he merely replied, "Ve~ if Japan wants to go, he can go. I'm just not up to it right now, sorry Francia." Japan stared at the younger nation, concerned.

"Itaria, why don't you come? You'll have fun, you know you will."

"I don't feel very well, I should just go home and rest a bit."

"If you think that's best for you, go ahead. France, I'll be over once I see to it Itaria is cared for, hai?"

"Oui."

Italy and Japan got off at the next stop, along with all of the other countries. Once Italy had taken his pills and eaten dinner, Japan left for France's apartment. Italy, however, wasn't sick at all. He pulled out a small cyanide capsule Romano had given him, which was only to be used if Italy was ever captured. He put the capsule between his teeth, lay in his bed, pulled the sheets up to his chest, then rolled on his side and closed his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping when he bit down on the capsule, releasing the poison into his body. Italy died within minutes of swallowing the cyanide.

Japan, meanwhile, was on his way back to his apartment with France, who had formulated a plan to keep an eye on Italy. When they flung the door open, exposing the Italian, they expected him to wake up. Italy, of course, didn't move. He just stayed on his side, eyes closed, unmoving. Japan ran over and felt Italy's neck for a pulse. When he didn't feel one, he shook Italy's shoulders, crying the entire time. France pulled him away from the dead Italian, staring at Italy the entire time in complete horror. _Why, l'Italie, why? No, how did you die? You look so peaceful, it's almost like you planned this,_ France thought, wiping the tears from his face. Japan was currently sitting downstairs with a hot cup of tea, waiting for England, Canada, China, Romano, America, and Russia to arrive. They were the first to respond to France's mass text about how they had found Italy, who he thought had died in his sleep from malnutrition and overdose in medicine. England and America appeared first, followed by Canada and Romano, then China and Russia. Romano collapsed to his knees next to his brother's body, sobbing.

"Feliciano, c-come on! W-wake up, F-Feli! You c-can't be d-dead, we need you! Screw it, _I_ need you." Romano buried his face in his hands.

America slowly moved the italian away from the bed, looking for small signs of life in Italy. The twitch of a finger, a sudden intake of breath, something. When he found nothing, he looked at England, shaking his head. China started crying. He had known the Italian well, since he was Japan's boyfriend and China _always_ knew whoever Japan was dating. Russia merely stood there, catatonic. Canada stared at the dead Italian, disbelief clouding his eyes. Japan was still sobbing downstairs, since France wouldn't allow him back upstairs while the 'investigation' was occurring. America and England carried Feliciano's body down the stairs, a task the two did not because he was heavy, but because they didn't want to disrespect the Italian by hefting him over one of their shoulders. Japan could see now that his Italian was deceased, and he would never get to see the cherry blossoms with him again. Japan noticed something was missing from his box of things Italy was not to touch. The knives were all accounted for, as was every string of rope. One cyanide capsule, however, was missing. While the others were pondering how Italy died, Japan cleared his throat.

"I know how Itaria died."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Romano gave us an escape kit for Christmas, complete with exactly two cyanide capsules. When I looked in the box of things Italy was never allowed to touch, exactly one cyanide capsule was missing."

"You think my brother poisoned himself?" Romano asked, indignation quite clear in his voice.

"I am not happy with the aspect either, but it appears that way. Remember, the capsule has to be broken by one willingly, since it has to be bit down on. Thus, I couldn't have slipped it into his evening medicine, not that I would have any reason to."

"Japan has a point, standard cyanide capsules must be bit down on to break." America intervened before Romano could argue the point any further.

There was no doubting it now. Feliciano Vargas was dead.


	5. Chapter Five

**I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers or Doctor Who. However, if you really think about it, it would suck if I ever did own it... And mien gott has anyone else looked outside and seen small trees all the way bent over from wind? Stupid Irene, messing up my backyard like the stupid tropical storm/hurricane you is ("is" is apparently grammatically correct in that sentence, according to Microsoft Word).**

**Thanks to NekoNerd6, Sandyangel, and Cuore l'anima Della (yes, I know the "d" shouldn't be capitalized but Word is yelling at me, so I am capitalizing it) for reviewing!**

**Cuore l'anima Della: Okay, so I overlooked the small factor that nations couldn't be killed by, say, a gunshot wound. However, they can be killed by certain things, which were never specified. But, keep in mind one of Italy's flashbacks and the fact that countries cannot be killed by a bullet.**

**NekoNerd6: Perhaps there will be a few more chapters, one might never know. I have a sadistic tendency to be very annoyingly stubborn when it comes to ending stories.  
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**Okay, I've had enough torturing everyone else with this author's note for one day. **

_**This part of the story is told from the oh-so-sacred lunch break, and is extremely important so please don't overlook anything, because it complicates things. And by the way, I'm prone to putting sadistic twists on my stories.**_

Germany could barely stand next to Italy and conduct the meeting; it made him feel sick to his stomach. _When is the lunch break again? I need to get out of here before I start throwing up_ Germany thought. Then, the clock in the meeting room struck twelve o'clock and everyone flooded outside. Germany, however, ran outside and immediately got in his car. He drove back to his apartment, going so fast it was probably way above the speed limit. _Mein gott, I can't believe Italy tried to kill himself, then has the audacity to show up to the meeting like that! And Japan, letting him come, is almost as bad as Italy! Whoa, Ludwig, calm down. This is your fault, after all. You mustn't dwell on unpleasant topics._ Germany flopped onto his couch, taking up the entire thing by lying sideways, and turned on the television. He switched the channel to the Italian News, watching as the reporter gave his entire report.

"Several wounded war soldiers bled out and died a few months ago, much to everyone's confusion. The soldiers were healing well, until one day the wounds reopened. Their names were-"

Germany switched to the cartoon channel, watching the characters beating each other up should clear his mind. He stared mindlessly at the TV, almost wishing for something else to turn on. He switched to the SyFy BBC channel, only to see _Doctor Who_. It was the beginning of the episode, but when the title flashed across the screen Germany swore loudly and changed the channel. _How dare they name an episode of a television show __Let's Kill Hitler__ right after World War two? _Germany swore yet again when he heard a knock on the door, followed by the sound of his older brother, Prussia, calling his name.

"Ludwig, the awesome me knows you're in there. No one else swears that loudly, and in German, no less."

"The door is open." Germany replied, sitting up on the couch.

"Italy's been looking for you."

Germany's throat constricted almost to the point where he couldn't breathe.

"Did anyone tell him anything?"

"France said that you were afraid of something, but other than that, no."

Prussia's phone made a loud clanging noise, almost like a bullet ricocheting off of a metal surface. He swore quietly and picked up the phone.

"Ja, France, it is Prussia. Nien, Germany is at home. He doesn't feel very well today. Jawhol, that's what I said. All right, auf wiedersehen, und guten tag." Prussia slammed the phone closed, glaring at it.

Prussia threw Germany a small package and walked back out. The package was very small and very soft. Germany opened it, peeled through layers of bubble wrap, only to find the very flower he had purposefully left at the hospital. He smashed the forget-me-not against the floor, and then glared at the shards of blue clay. He cleaned up the pieces before regretting smashing it. He tried to piece the intricate flower back together, but could never get it to look even remotely the same. After two hours of trying, he gave up and was very surprised when his phone dinged from a text from France.

_**And that's where I am cutting off this chapter. Yes, I do know it's short, and yes, I know short chapters are annoying. But bear with, I have most of chapter six typed up, I just need to finish it.**_


	6. Chapter Six

_**Still don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers. And I have come to the conclusion that I am a sadistic bitch. But you guys still love me, right? Right?  
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_:: Italy died, either from malnutrition or medical overdose. Get to his apartment as soon as you can je vous en prie! ::_

Germany leapt out of his place on the floor, not even noticing when several shards embedded themselves deep in his hands. He ran to the front of Italy's apartment, only to stop when he heard crying, accompanied by the sound of voices coming from deep inside the room. He knocked hesitantly on the door, and, when no one answered, knocked again. This time, Japan came to the door red-eyed and crying. He let Germany into the apartment, where Romano was quietly singing 'Bella Ciao' to Italy. Germany recognized the partisan song from the war, when Italy had first sung it to him. '_La Ristenza de Italia' the Italian Resistance. And how familiar that song must be to Italy now, I feel horrible about occupying the village where Feliciano was living, but I can't help but feel happy I did it._ Germany jumped when the door flew open so wide it slammed into the wall. The tear-streaked faces of Austria and Hungary stood in the doorway.

"Verdammt Deutschland, what happened? I got a call from Japan, he said-He said that-He said that Italy-"

"He said that Italy was dead." Hungary relatively softer voice finished for the louder Austrian.

Germany braced himself for a beating by Hungary's frying pan, but when he wasn't attacked, he looked at her curiously. She merely shook her head and put a hand on his shoulder. Austria took one look at Italy's pale face and collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. America noticed that he didn't move and shook his shoulders. England joined him, and together they tried to rouse the catatonic nation.

"Verdammt it won't help to abuse Austria." Prussia came barreling into the room, yelling, "It's quite obvious that Austria is shell-shocked, as I'm sure more than one of you were when you looked at Feliciano!"

Every nation in that room, save for Hungary and Austria, immediately looked down at the floor. Austria blinked and opened Italy's mouth, pulling out an uncrushed half of the cyanide capsule. He glared at the younger country, stern, when France came over and snatched the pill out of Austria's fingers.

"Italy, verdammt, you complete and total arse." Austria cursed.

"Hey, Roderich, it's not polite to-"Hungary began, confused when she was silenced by France.

"No, Austria's right. Italy, tu connard, you are not really dead. And to think you fooled Amerique, who has seen his fill of the dead, mon petit cher."

"Okay, somebody fill me in here. What in the name of hamburgers is going on?" America asked, not really caring whether or not he sounded as impatient as he was.

"Nations can't die that easily, Dummkopf." Germany cut in before Austria could answer.

"So thus, Italy's not dead, but he might be dying. Meaning, we need to act now and we need to act fast."

"An antidote for cyanide should suffice da?"

"Yes, but where-What the bloody hell do you have that for, you git?" England asked, changing his question mid-sentence when Russia pulled out a small vial of liquid.

Russia responded by pouring the contents down the Italian's throat. Said Italian, however, merely coughed and gagged before sucking in a giant breath. His eyes shot open and he looked at the Russian looming over him before screaming very loudly, which was sure to rouse the other nations. Sure enough, the door across the hall was thrown open and a very angry-looking Spain stormed into the room, shoving Russia out of the way. Korea responded in a similar fashion, and soon the apartment was flooded with countries, all of which began talking at once, with the exception of Japan and Italy, who just sat on the couch. Italy's head was in Japan's lap. Japan, on the other hand, was looking down at Italy lovingly, yet he was still very angry at the Italian.

"Nani is making you feel like this, Itaria?"

"I-I don't know, Japan. If I knew, I would get help for it. At the moment, I just wish everyone would get out so I can have some alone time with you."

"Give me a minute and we can get that alone time. Oi, Germany, can you come here for a moment?"

"Ja, what is it?"

Japan whispered something into Germany's ear, making the blond laugh, but he yelled at everyone to clear out because Japan wanted to get the hell to sleep all the same. They all left, save for Germany. The blond saluted Japan in a joking manner before leaving, making Japan laugh. Italy had been leaning against the back of the couch, a bowl of pasta suddenly appearing in his lap while he ate it happily. _Oh, now how did he manage to procure a bowl of pasta?_ Japan thought, slightly chuckling. Italy finished his pasta, put the bowl in the sink, and sat down next to Japan again, pulling the older country into a warm embrace.

"Itaria, don't you ever do that to me again, do you hear me? I thought you were dead!" Japan started crying again.

"Ve~ but I'm not dead, and I promise to you I will not allow you to die alone, mi amo." Italy made an attempt to soothe the now sobbing nation, "Mi amo, it's all right, I'm here, I'm alive, everything will be okay. Please, stop crying, Japan. Everything is okay now, no one is hurt, no one is dead, and it's all right." Italy began to sing badly on purpose, making Japan stop crying and cover his ears, laughing.

"Watashi itoshi, Italy, but stop that," Japan half-yelled when Italy tackled him, straddling his waist and tickling the life out of him.

"Never, Japan, never!" Italy replied, tickling the normally solemn man more brutally.

Japan shrieked with laughter when Italy tickled his feet. He pushed the Italian off of him, and then got up, wheezing. There was a knock on the door yet again. Japan looked at Italy, who was still laughing.

"Stop laughing at me, it's your fault I'm so ticklish in the first place!" Japan said, blushing.

Italy opened the door to reveal a very confused Canada.

"What in the name of maple is going on here?"

"Er, well you see, Italy decided that tickling me was a good way to make me laugh, so-"

"So I tackled him and accidentally almost killed him."

"Exactly, so we're sorry to have been too loud..."

"Actually, France was listening at the door." Canada replied, blushing and kicking the Frenchman over.


	7. Unfortunately, I have to post this AN

_**Hey guys, just a quick update on this story's status... Eheheheh I told you I'd have a chapter up soon and I didn't... DX I'm sorry! I'm working on rewriting this story to give it more detail and make it make more sense since my writing has *hopefully* improved... I'm also planning on making the chapters longer and giving you more of them. I was wondering if you guys wanted a bit of back story for the first chapter and then like a time-travel thing for the last one? Please please please please please either review or PM me if you think that's a good idea...**_

_**Also, I know I'm asking a lot, but would anybody be willing to beta this story? My beta (AKA MY LAZY ASS SISTER) won't beta it anymore... If there's anyone out there who wants to beta this story I'd appreciate it.  
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_**Peace, love, and hasta la pasta,  
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_**~~1925~~  
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